Marvolo
by Whyfore
Summary: Tom Riddle finds out he is a wizard, and moves from the vapid orphanage he's known his whole life to Hogwarts. But he can't shake a deep fascination with his past, his ancestry. A hopefully canonical account of Tom's first year...
1. Prologue: 'Merope'

_Hope you enjoy what I've written. I'm hoping to bring more insight to a fascinating character, and to perhaps better explain that vital question: "Why?" I'm trying to be as accurate and canonical as I possibly can. Any feedback/reviews/advice much appreciated.__  
__  
__At this stage, I've just done a rather short, but hopefully sufficient prologue to the story proper (I may lengthen it at a later date). __  
__  
__Of course, I don't own Harry Potter and the associated world and mythology._  
_  
Enjoy._

**Prologue: "Merope"**

The emaciated, dirty woman stumbled down the alleyway. Her dress was filthy and patched, and she wore no shoes, despite the thick snow that covered the ground. She carried a long, thin wooden stick in her hand, and clutched her other hand to her bulging stomach. She let out a loud, painful moan.

The woman emerged onto the street and walked out onto the cobbled road. There were lights on in all the buildings around her.

Inside one of these buildings - an orphanage - a pair of women were sitting, drinking from large glasses of neat gin, celebrating, as best they could, the New Year. The pair sat in front of an open fire in a warm, but shabbily decorated lounge on the second floor of the building. The wireless was playing. The younger woman - Mrs Cole - looked to be about twenty years old, with scruffy hair and wearing practical, warm clothes. Mrs Brown was older, perhaps fifty, with a harsh, world-weary face, and she wore a pretty, but old and faded, floral dress.

It was ten minutes later when their quiet revelry was interrupted by a muffled knock on the door to the sitting room. Mrs Cole got up and opened it.

Mary Snell's big blue eyes looked up at her.

'I can't sleep, Mrs Cole,' she said.

'Ah come here, Mary. Let's have a talk to matron.' Mrs Cole picked up the small girl and sat back down in her seat with Mary on her lap.

'Aye Mary, what's wrong?' said Mrs Brown in her thick Scots accent. Mary looked a little frightened.

'I can't get to sleep, matron.'

'Aye well you come with me Mary and I'll show you a little trick and you'll be asleep in no time.'

'I... I... Thank you matron.'

The little girl followed Mrs Brown out the door, and Mrs Cole was left alone. She began to sing along to the radio - Vera Lynn. Immediately after the song ended, however, Mrs Cole heard a loud, jarring noise from outside. She pulled aside the pale green curtains and peered out.

The bedraggled woman was pulling frantically on the cast iron gates of the orphanage.

Mrs Cole went to the sitting room door and called out to Mrs Brown. There was no response, so she scuttled down the staircase into the main hallway, and along to the large oak front door. She turned the handle.

Mrs Cole moved towards the gates. The pregnant woman looked even worse close-up. She had a pale, heavy face, framed with lank, dull hair. Her eyes darted around in their sockets, and they never both pointed in the same direction. She was very young – perhaps even in her late teens – but she looked like she had worries far beyond her years. She was distraught, and confused.

Anthea simply stared at the woman, unable to speak.

'Help me,' the woman said in a strained voice.

Anthea recovered. 'W- who are you?' she said.

'Help.'

'W- what's wrong?'

'He's- he's coming.'

The woman inclined her head slightly. Her eyes betrayed that she was ashamed.

Mrs Cole turned around and moved back towards the front door.

'Mrs Brown! Come here!'

At seven in the morning, on the first of January 1927, Mrs Cole held the newborn. It was a boy, dark hair and dark eyes. Of course, you can't usually tell when they're just born, she thought. But it was striking, and she felt sure the hair, and the eyes would remain dark as they were. The boy's eyes were distant, and would not make contact with Mrs Cole's. He hadn't yet cried once.

The mother had died less than an hour after giving birth. A man would be coming around later that day to organise what would be done with the body.

'Tom Marvolo Riddle.' Mrs Brown said. 'Funny middle name, that. Wonder where it's from?'

'It is very odd. Italian? It's his grandfather's name, that's what she said. Her name, too, what was it?' Mrs Cole passed Tom to Mrs Brown.

'Merope? Sounds like a circus name. Maybe that's it, they're circus people. He's a beautiful boy though, don't you think?'

'That's one of the last things she said to me, before she passed, that was: "I hope he looks like his papa."'

'Sure was right to hope that, she was no looker herself.'

'She was in a sad state, she was. Felt so sorry for her.'

They were both silent for a few seconds.

'I wonder how she got to be that way?

'I hope little Tom here grows up better.'_  
_


	2. Chapter One: 'Mr Dumberton'

_This is very much based on the pensieve scene from HBP. Hopefully though, it gives an interesting new slant to it. Anyway, one more chapter based on textual evidence (Tom meets Dumbledore) and then begin the truly creative ones. Hope you enjoy it, and please review._

**Chapter One: "Mr Dumberton"**

It was a warm July evening, ten-and-a-half years after the night when Tom Riddle was born, and Mrs Cole sat in her office, enjoying a quiet moment after the children had gone to sleep. She poured herself a stiff gin, and swigged it down in one go. Placing the glass down, she picked up the small pile of letters, and began sorting through them. Most were uninteresting bills and accounts, which Mrs Cole opened, glanced at briefly, and placed onto neat piles. A few were letters addressed to the children - these she placed on a separate pile without opening. Finally, on the very bottom of the pile was a thick envelope of heavy parchment, sealed with a deep read wax seal, stamped with an ornate crest. It had no stamp, and had an address written upon it in an elegant, loopy font:

_Mrs Anthea Cole  
St Kentigern's Orphanage  
__London _

Mrs Cole turned the envelope over in her hands curiously, before peeling the seal off and opening it. She unfolded the letter, and began to read:

_Dear Mrs Cole,  
I am writing to arrange a meeting with you, and one of the children under your care, Tom Riddle. This is about an important matter which I shall discuss with you and Tom when I meet with you. I propose this Saturday, at 2pm. Unless you contact me with correspondence to the contrary, I shall assume you agree to meeting me at the aforementioned time.  
__Warmly yours,  
Albus Percival Wolfric Brian Dumbledore_

She considered the letter carefully. It was a most confusing letter. What could this Dumbledore character want with the weird, distant Riddle boy, she thought. And it was very presumptuous of him to assume she would agree to the meeting! He had a very funny name, much like Tom himself, and his mother. Was he Tom's family, perhaps? She placed the letter, open, under a paperweight, making a mental note to remember that he would be coming this Saturday.

Mrs Cole was busy at work when Eleanor called her to the door on Saturday afternoon. She hurried down the stairs, continuing to issue commands to the girls even as she walked into the main hallway of the orphanage. Glancing at her watch, she noticed it was exactly two in the afternoon. She looked at the man standing in the doorway, and simply stopped and stared.

He was a very distinctive-looking man. He appeared perhaps fifty or sixty years old - but it was hard to tell. He had long auburn hair, and an equally long auburn beard. He wore a flamboyantly cut, plum-coloured velvet suit, and had a pair of thin, half-moon spectacles resting upon his nose. He had an air of wisdom about him.

'Good afternoon,' he said, offering his hand.

Mrs Cole could not think what to say to this strangely-attired figure. Words eluded her when she was presented with this bizarre man. She simply gaped, unsure what to do or say.

'My name is Albus Dumbledore. I sent you a letter requesting an appointment and you very kindly invited me here today,' he continued.

Mrs Cole blinked, and was in half a mind to point out that she had certainly not invited him - he had invited himself! But she found it difficult to muster up the courage to point out to this affronting man his rudeness. Articulation escaped her, so she feebly muttered, 'Oh yes. Well - well, then - you'd better come into my room. Yes.'

She lead Albus Dumbledore along the tiled hallway and up the stone staircase to the familiar surrounds of her small office. She directed him to a wooden seat by the window, and herself sat down behind the cluttered desk. Her eyes glanced over the piece of parchment she had received from the man as she looked up at him. She eyed him nervously, not sure what to expect from him. An awkward silence filled the room for a few seconds, until Albus Dumbledore broke it.

'I am here, as I told you in my letter, to discuss Tom Riddle and arrangements for his future,' he said.

'Are you family?' asked Mrs Cole quickly.

'No, I am a teacher,' he said. 'I have come to offer Tom a place at my school.'

'What school's this then?'

'It is called Hogwarts.'

'And how come you're interested in Tom?'

'We believe he has qualities we are looking for.'

'You mean he's won a scholarship? How can he have done? He's never been entered for one.' Mrs Cole was very suspicious of this whole business.

'Well, his name has been down for our school since birth -'

'Who registered him? His parents?' Mrs Cole cut into Dumbledore's speaking, still unsure of him. He looked surprised, and also a little annoyed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a long thin piece of wood. He picked up a blank piece of paper and waved the stick gracefully over it. He handed the paper to Mrs Cole.

'Here,' Dumbledore said, 'I think this will make everything clear.' Mrs Cole felt her doubts become instantly assuaged when she looked at the small rectangle of paper. She suddenly felt she could trust this man.

'That seems perfectly in order,' she said, placidly. She noticed a nearly-full bottle of gin, and a pair of squat glasses sitting in front of her. That's funny, she thought, I thought I finished the gin off last night. She was still a little dazed, however, and so she simply accepted it.

'Er - may I offer you a glass of gin?'

'Thank you very much,' said Dumbledore.

Mrs Cole filled the two glasses half-full with the gin, handing one to Dumbledore. The other she raised to her mouth and drained in one gulp. She placed the glass down, and lifted up the bottle to refill it.

'I was wondering whether you could tell me anything of Tom Riddle's history? I think he was born here in the orphanage?' said Dumbledore.

'That's right,' said Mrs Cole, 'I remember it clear as anything, because I'd just started here myself. New Year's Eve and bitter cold, snowing, you know. Nasty night. And this girl, not much older than I was myself at the time, came staggering up the front steps. Well, she wasn't the first. We took her in and she had the baby within the hour. And she was dead within another hour.'

Mrs Cole downed her second glass of gin.

'Did she say anything before she died? Anything about the boy's father, for instance?' asked Dumbledore.

'Now, as it happens, she did,' Mrs Cole said, 'I remember she said to me, "I hope he looks like his papa," and I won't lie, she was right to hope it, because she was no beauty - and then she told me he was to be named Tom, for his father, and Marvolo, for _her_ father - yes, I know, funny name, isn't it? We wondered whether she came from a circus - and she said the boy's surname was to be Riddle. And she died soon after that without another word.'

'Well, we named him just as she'd said, it seemed important to the poor girl, but no Tom nor Marvolo nor any kind of Riddle ever came looking for him, nor any family at all, so he stayed in the orphanage and he's been here ever since.'

Mrs Cole picked up the gin bottle and poured herself another measure. She silently offered it again to Dumbledore, and he silently declined. She drank this one, again, very quickly.

The gin was beginning to cloud Mrs Cole's judgment. She thought for a few seconds, and then blurted it out. 'He's a funny boy.'

Normally she wouldn't gossip about this kind of thing to a visitor. But the gin had ensured she wasn't thinking straight.

Plus, he _was_ a rather funny boy.

Dumbledore didn't seem taken aback by this. 'Yes,' he said, ' I thought he might be.'

'He was a funny baby, too. He hardly ever cried, you know. And then, when he got a little older, he was ... odd.'

'Odd, in what way?' Dumbledore was gently coaxing her to share.

'Well, he -'

Mrs Cole nearly spoke, but she thought better of it. She thought for a second, and looked quizzically at Dumbledore.

'He's definitely got a place at your school, you say?'

'Definitely,' he reassured her.

'And nothing I say can change that?'

'Nothing,' he said decisively.

'You'll be taking him away whatever?'

'Whatever,' Dumbledore said gravely.

Mrs Cole considered this carefully.

'He scares the other children.' she said, quickly.

'You mean he's a bully?'

'I think he must be, but it's very hard to catch him at it. There have been incidents ... nasty things ...'

Mrs Cole paused for a second, and took a sip of gin. He was very smart, that boy, but he wasn't very friendly. In fact, she thought, I don't believe he has a single friend.

She continued speaking to Dumbledore: 'Billy Stubbs's rabbit ... well, Tom _said_ he didn't do it and I don't see how he could have done, but even so, it didn't hang itself from the rafters, did it?'

'I shouldn't think so, no,' said Dumbledore softly.

'But I'm jiggered if I know how he got up there to do it,' she continued. She was beginning to ramble a little, and her words were beginning to slur together. 'All I know is he and Billy had argued the day before. And then -' Mrs Cole took another swig of gin, spilling a little down her front, 'on the summer outing - we take them out, you know, once a year, to the countryside or to the seaside - well, Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop were never quite right afterwards, and all we ever got out of them was that they'd gone into a cave with Tom Riddle. He swore they'd just gone exploring, but _something_ happened in there, I'm sure of it. And, well, there have been a lot of things, funny things ...'

She looked Dumbledore straight in the eyes.

'I don't think many people will be sorry to see the back of him.'

'You understand, I'm sure, that we will not be keeping him permanently?' Dumbledore said. 'He will have to return here, at the very least, every summer.'

'Oh, well, that's better than a whack on the nose with a rusty poker,' Mrs Cole said, lifting herself from her seat. 'I suppose you'd like to see him?'

'Very much,' said Dumbledore, rising too.

Mrs Cole managed to remain steady as she lead Dumbledore out of her office and up another flight of stairs to Tom's room. She knocked twice upon the room and opened the door.

'Tom?' she said, 'You've got a visitor.' His name had quite escaped her, so she tried her best to guess. 'This is Mr Dumberton - sorry, Dunderbore. He's come to tell you - well, I'll let him do it.'

Mrs Cole stepped aside, and allowed Dumbledore to enter the room. She shut the door behind him, and stood outside, thinking, for a few seconds. Then she scuttled off along the corridor, to check on Eric Whalley in his room.


End file.
